


Tough Nut To Crack

by iwasanartist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29079390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasanartist/pseuds/iwasanartist
Summary: Special dignitaries call for a special meal, but of course, there's a problem.
Relationships: T'Pol & Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 13
Kudos: 18
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Tough Nut To Crack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HopefulNebula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopefulNebula/gifts).



> This isn't overtly shippy, so I marked it gen. It could easily be pre-ship, and probably be read as shipfic if you wanted.

Trip was just starting to cut butter into flour when T’Pol walked into the kitchen.

“Commander Tucker. You’re late for your neuro-pressure session,” she said. Her voice was characteristically flat, but Trip could have sworn he heard a tinge of disappointment underneath it.

“Sorry, T’Pol. I’m going to miss this one. Captain’s got us all a little busy.”

“Commander, consistency is a key factor in successful treatment.”

“Yeah well, I’ll be sure to pass your grievance on to Chef’s GI tract,” Trip said before frowning at his utensil, setting it aside and prodding at the mixture with his fingers.

Enterprise was hosting dignitaries from a high-tech planet, and it was pretty late in the planning process before anyone found out they had zero tolerance for re-sequenced food and ingredients. Which of course aligned perfectly with Chef catching some sort of stomach bug that Phlox assured them wasn’t contagious or deadly but also wasn’t abating with the standard treatments.

Archer had assigned a task to all the bridge crew, and Trip had been given dessert.

“How’re things going out there?”

“Ensigns Sato and Mayweather and Lieutenant Reed’s side dishes have been prepared and are being held in stasis. My contribution is cooking and Captain Archer is currently tending to a rather large portion of meat. The smell is-”

“Amazing?”

“Nauseating.”

Trip couldn’t help but grin. “Well, I bet it’s delicious.”

T’Pol watched him knead the dough until it’s crumbles began to form a cohesive lump.

“I wasn’t expecting you to still be working this late,” she finally said. 

“Well, there’s no rushing Gramma’s Pecan Pies,” Trip said. “What’d you do? Drop some roots and leaves into unsalted water and leave it over a flame?”

She squinted at him just long enough for Trip to wonder if she was trying to decide whether smacking him upside the head would be a show of emotion before her gaze softened.

“That is not an entirely inaccurate summation.”

Laughter burst out of Trip like a fire hose.

“Oh, that’s great,” he said between gales. “That’s so great, I need a minute.” He wiped at his eyes as a final chuckle bubbled out of him and a timer dinged from the ovens. “But I don’t have a minute,” he finished as he pulled the door open and removed two pie crusts.

“Do you require assistance?” T’Pol had begun to pull the bowl in her direction when Trip’s finger reached out and caught the lip.

“I wouldn’t,” he said quickly. “There’s a lot of butter in there. Animal product, and all that.” She tilted her head and gazed at him for a moment.

“That was very thoughtful, Commander.”

“Yeah, well. I manage every now and again. Got a fruit salad chilling too, if you want to draw up some commendation paperwork.”

She almost smiled. Just a quick twitch around her mouth that Trip barely caught. But it was there. He was about to speak again when the comms unit chirped, grabbing his attention

“Tucker.”

“Commander,” Kelby’s voice squeaked out over the tiny wall speaker, “we ran the tests you wanted.”

“Any luck?”

“No sir. The hydraulics unit completely pulverized the sample.”

“Damn. Is Lieutenant Reed with you?”

“I’m here, Trip,” Malcolm’s voice rang out.

“How’d the-”

“No joy on the phase pistol either. I’m afraid the lowest setting breaches the outer shell but causes too much damage inside. And before you ask, I already inquired about using the transporter. Ensign Mayweather says the technology is at least a decade out from handling that degree of specificity.”

“Well that’s a comforting thought. You guys have any good news for me?”

“I hear the captain’s smoked beast smells delightful.”

Trip smiled and spared a glance for T’Pol. “I’ve heard otherwise. Anyway, thanks for trying.” Trip turned away from the comms panel and approached his workspace with a sigh.

“Is there a problem in engineering?” T’Pol asked.

“Nah. No, it’s…” Trip rubbed at his eyes before explaining. “You remember that planet with those crab-hand people?" Trip raised his hands and pinched his thumb and fingers together. "They had those nuts that were kind of like a cross between a pecan and a hazelnut?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Chef picked up a crate of them before we left, and I figured they'd do for pie. Only problem is-” he gestured at bowl of nuts on the counter, still encased in hard shells, “I can’t find any way into them. Broke the nutcracker. Two sets of pliers, a mallet, and then there’s this.” Trip reached under the counter and pulled out one of Chef’s knives, bent and broken beyond all usefulness. T’Pol’s eyes went wide.

“Chef will not be pleased.”

“No, he won’t. But I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Right now, it’s time for Plan B.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know yet, but gotta find something or dessert’ll just be sugar in a pie crust.” Trip stepped away from the worktable and crossed his arms. “Not enough fruit salad to go around,” he muttered to himself. “Maybe chocolate cream? Nah, Chef’ll really be pissed if I use all his dairy. Chocolate’s a little thin, too. But if we did a brownie…I hear beans can stretch that…”

 _CRRRAAAACK_.

Trip looked up sharply as T’Pol sifted through the remains of a shell and deposited the freed nut on the table.

“Are you kidding me?” 

T’Pol just looked at him as she picked another nut up, holding it tightly between her thumb and finger, and squeezed.

 _CRRRAAAACK_.

“Do you require assistance?”

“Yeah. Yes, absolutely,” Trip said with a sigh of relief as T’Pol grabbed an empty bowl and deposited the freshly shelled nuts into it. 

For a while, they worked in near silence. T’Pol handled the shelling and Trip dumped his dough onto the floured surface and rolled it into a crust. Occasionally he spared a glance her way, and she must have noticed at some point.

“Did you need something, Commander?”

“No,” Trip said quickly. “No, I just…thank you for doing this. It’s probably getting past your meditation time or something?”

“I suppose I can manage being late one night.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I bet. Hey, listen. You don’t mind if we don’t tell the Cap’n and everyone how close this came to being a complete disaster, do you? Bad enough that Kelby and Malcolm and Travis know. Wouldn’t want it getting it out to the guests of honor.”

“Agreed,” T’Pol said. She dropped another nut into the bowl before speaking again. “And you needn’t worry, Commander. I also will not inform the crew I spent the evening cracking your nuts.”

“What?” Trip fumbled his rolling pin, smashing the dough he was transferring into the lip of the pie plate. “What?” he said again while fixing his error. “Did you just…was that a joke?”

T’Pol said nothing, but this time there was no mistaking the the curve of her lip as another shell broke.


End file.
